


saccharine

by latenights



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenights/pseuds/latenights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As irritating as Oikawa can be, he’s also childish in his purest form, a saccharine heart, and with all his flaws (not despite them, never) he loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saccharine

“Iwa-chan, it’s raining.”

Iwaizumi doesn't need to be told when he can hear it perfectly fine. The pitter patter of the rain echoes within the walls of their tiny bedroom, soft and rhythmic. Outside, the sky is gray and overcast. The view of their hydrangea bushes is blurred into nonsensical shapes and colors of blue, violet, and green by the splatter of rain against glass.

Oikawa turns his hopeful gaze to him, lips curled into a giddy smile when he points a finger to their window. An obvious silent plea.

With a defeated sigh, Iwaizumi sits up from their bed and flicks him on the forehead, ignores the overdramatic whines of pain and “so mean, Iwa-chan” and throws a jacket on before tossing Oikawa’s own coat to him.

Their shoes slosh in the grass when they step out into their backyard with their umbrellas. The cold air feels refreshing in his lungs when he breathes and the scent of rain sets him at ease. Between them, there is silence broken by the gentle shush of rain and a small distance closed by the link of their hands. They stay that way in the few minutes that seem to stretch on longer in the midst of the calm, before Oikawa gently pulls away. Tossing his umbrella aside, he faces the gray sky with outstretched arms, laughter ringing with childish glee as the rain thoroughly soaks him through.

“You’re gonna get sick!” Oikawa dodges his kick, snickering like the immature brat he (sometimes) is.

“No fun at all,” he teases with that playful grin. “Come here, Iwa-chan.”

“What are you—Hey, don’t’!” Unlike Oikawa, he doesn't move in time and finds himself captured in his setter’s wet hold as his grasp on his umbrella loosens and it falls to the side. Their bodies are pressed close to each other, Oikawa’s dripping clothes soaking him through his jacket and jeans. Although, he supposes, none of that matters when the rain already drenches him from head to toe anyway. It doesn't stop him from struggling against Oikawa’s grip.

“Oikawa, I swear if you don’t let go—“

“Hey,” he interrupts with a whisper and presses their foreheads together, watches Iwaizumi from hooded eyes. “Kiss me.”

He’s too attuned to Oikawa’s presence, the details of his existence. His red-bloomed cheeks. His warm, rain-slicked skin. The pearls of water caught in his eyelashes. They all come to him with heightened clarity, even in the hush of rain and the scent of wet grass and dirt. His hands tremble as they rest against Oikawa’s chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering against his rib cage.

Iwaizumi’s gaze flickers to him, and he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering close when their lips meet.

Soft, warm mouth and a caressing palm against his jaw, just like in the movies, Iwaizumi thinks distantly. Cheesy and cliché, the sort of thing Oikawa relishes and what he’d normally roll his eyes at, but right now, with Oikawa gentle against his mouth and their bodies flushed in the cold rain, he savors it. As irritating as Oikawa can be, he’s also childish in his purest form, a saccharine heart, and with all his flaws (not despite them,  _never_ ) he loves him. Loves him and all his stupid, sentimental ideas that would probably get them sick for the next three days. Because there’s no one else his heart swells for when Oikawa pulls away, laughs happily, dizzily in the crook of his neck while they stand outside, soaked to the bone like a couple of fools. He finds himself laughing along too, threading his fingers through Oikawa’s wet curls. It’s a memory he knows will stand out among countless of others, like snapshots in full clarity among the other blurred photographs of his life, washed out by the eventual passage of time.

He feels the curve of Oikawa’s smile against his skin. “Let’s kiss some more, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sends his agreement in the form of five pecks. Ten. Twenty. He stops counting.

(And when they do end up in bed with icy washcloths on their feverish skin, he doesn't mind telling Oikawa, “I told you so.” Just as he doesn't mind when they hold hands while they sleep off their cold.)


End file.
